


(i have sent for) a warrior

by aliveanddrunkonsunlight



Series: drunk on sunlight [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon, Canon-ish, F/M, Fluffy, Hurt/Comfort, Pennytree, lady stoneheart adjacent, post-adwd, someone said they pull a reverse uno card in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27975664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliveanddrunkonsunlight/pseuds/aliveanddrunkonsunlight
Summary: When the sunlight begins to disappear behind the trees, she shows no signs of slowing. “Lady Brienne,” he finally says. “You must have some mercy on an old man. I should like to rest.”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: drunk on sunlight [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1416598
Comments: 38
Kudos: 107





	(i have sent for) a warrior

**Author's Note:**

> This is a super cracky post-adwd idea I've had for awhile. Thanks to Wen for looking this over for me!

Brienne sets a fast pace as they set off from Pennytree, as if she is running from something. If she is to be believed, running towards something, someone. He’d seen her face back at the camp. Brienne was many things, but being a good liar was not among them. 

When the sunlight begins to disappear behind the trees, she shows no signs of slowing. Jaime remembers how stubborn she can be, how when he was her captor, they rode through the night until he and Cleos were half asleep in the saddle. “Lady Brienne,” he finally says. “You must have some mercy on an old man. I should like to rest.” 

Brienne slows her horse to a trot. “Hardly old,” she looks over her shoulder at him, scowling. “Do you mean to camp, then?” 

Jaime sighs, exasperated by her stalwartness. “There is the Inn of the Kneeling Man. Surely you remember it.”

“Yes, but I really do not think-” 

“It will be dark soon,” he interrupts. If his charms and gentle wheedling will not do, he is capable of matching her mulishness with stubbornness of his own.

“Fine,” she exhales. “But no inns. There is a farm.” Even looking at the back of her head, he can tell that is no lie. She has ridden this way before. 

He wonders what has happened to her since they parted to make her capable of speaking falsehoods. The same woman who was not afraid to call him Kingslayer to his face. Regret washes over him. He sent her out on a quest alone, and now she has returned to him, hardened. Changed. He had stayed, foolishly committed to his family, when the one person who had cared for him when he was near death was riding out to face danger, to fulfill his oath. 

Jaime should have gone with her. 

He tries one last time to move her. “If we go to an inn, we may find someone who can tend to your wounds,” he says, softening his voice. 

The bandages on her face have yellowed. Almost as soon as she appeared at the Lannister camp, he noted how she kept her arm braced tightly to her side, and during their ride, when it was jostled by the horse’s movements, she winced once or twice. There has not been sufficient time for it to heal and she cannot barrel onwards without tending to it. They are already short a hand between them, they cannot afford two. 

“You could have a hot bath and we’ll change those dressings on your cheek.” At the beginning of their journey through the Riverlands, he teased and provoked her, and acted thoughtlessly cruel. His needling now isn’t viciousness, but something much different. It was a feeling he had not fully allowed himself to name. Not until he saw her again. 

The tight line of her shoulder loosens. But her reply is as determined, as rigid as before, “No. If we stop-” 

“What?” The path is narrow, but he draws up beside her anyway, his horse whickering in protest. 

Her face crumples, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Jaime feels like he’s been doused by a bucket of icy water, unable to catch his breath. For too long, he stares, trying to comprehend this version of her he has not seen before. 

He places his left hand on her knee, a moment of reassurance. She does not need it. Brienne is already sniffling, pulling herself back together without him, but he uses the rare moment of vulnerability to his advantage. “We are going to the inn.”

*

The chair he sits in is drawn up to her right side. His left hand is far from nimble, but he tries. Her whole cheek is mottled purple and he dabs at the wound tenderly, although she hisses and shrinks away from his hand a few times. It is bad, worse than he imagined, pus and blood, and he knows it is far beyond his repair. But it is the least he can do, after everything. 

Even as he was paying for their stay, she tried to argue. They had claimed the last room and it was only when they were alone, Brienne stoking the fire, did she begin to tell him, in bits and pieces, what happened since they parted. 

If Brienne’s fears are realized, if someone is following them, Jaime feels oddly protected with others around at the inn. Of course there is always uncertainty as to where loyalties lie, but even if they are attacked in the night, the inn felt a better choice than the two of them risking a camp alone in the woods or on some abandoned farm. 

She winces and reflexively, he reaches out with his right hand to stop her movements. Only he has no right hand and his stump bumps against her thigh. Brienne does not wrench herself away from him as if she has been burned, unlike his sister. Her blue eyes blink at him, nonplussed. The innkeeper’s wife was kind enough to make a poultice, which he dabs gently across her wound, then places fresh wrappings over her cheek. He has not been this close to her since they were forced to ride together on a horse, his right hand bouncing against her. Not since he fainted in the baths, half aware of her strong arms cradling his body. 

_Marry me_ , he thinks. Brienne does reel back then, panic washing over him as he realizes he spoke the words aloud. Her eyes are so wide, he is afraid she will stretch the gash on her cheek and make it bleed again. “Marry me,” he says again. 

“Are you _mad_?” Her fists are clenched tightly at her side, her mouth hardened into a thin line. “We-- _no_.”

“No?” He falters at her forceful reply. 

“This is poor form, even for you,” she says gruffly as she slides off the bed, the heat of her body brushing against his. Brienne starts _pacing_ their small room. “Are you sure you did not hit your head while we were riding?”

“It is not a jape. You are the one person who knows me well, my lady,” he replies hoarsely. 

Her body is outlined by the firelight as she raises her chin to look at him. “I will not kill my lord husband.”

“That is what they have asked of you?” She had told him of the creature Catelyn Stark had become, but she had not told him this. He was the pawn she would wield. 

“I had a plan.” Her fortitude, after she has been through so much, nearly makes him weep. 

“Tell me, then.” 

She is quiet for a long moment, and he follows her eyes across the room. Their swords lean against a small dusty table in the corner. The rubies in Oathkeeper’s pommel shimmer in the light. “I was not going to let them take you from me,” she says softly. “Not after everything.” There is a tremor in her voice and for a moment, he wishes they had never come here, had never set off on this path together. But they have. 

He crosses the room and gathers her up in his arms, relief flooding through him when she _allows_ it. She presses her lips to his, shy at first, but warm and soft. He emits a low, approving sound at the back of his throat. 

“And what will tomorrow bring?” Brienne murmurs against him. 

His hand rubs soothing circles across her shoulder. “Whatever it is, we will face it together.” 

* 

When they arrive at the Brotherhood’s camp, Jaime does not flinch when he sees Lady Stark, now Lady Stoneheart. He is not certain if the creature is able to feel...anything, but for the rest of his life, he will remember how Brienne looked her in the eye and said she has done as she was told. “I have delivered Ser Jaime Lannister, my _lord husband_ , at your lady’s behest.” 


End file.
